


Into the Great Wide Open

by djarum99



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djarum99/pseuds/djarum99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title borrowed from Tom Petty, because I love that video. Alice and Tarrant embark on a new adventure.  An exploration of Underlandish possibilities, and doors. The world is full of them :-)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Into the Great Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Tom Petty, because I love that video. Alice and Tarrant embark on a new adventure. An exploration of Underlandish possibilities, and doors. The world is full of them :-)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current location:** |  [sunday](http://maps.google.com/maps?q=sunday)  
---|---  
**Current mood:** |   
lazy  
**Current music:** | Tom Petty, breaking hearts  
**Entry tags:** |   
[alice in wonderland 2010](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/alice%20in%20wonderland%202010), [alice/tarrant](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/alice/tarrant), [fanfic](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic)  
  
  
_ **Fic: Into the Great Wide Open** _

Title: _Into the Great Wide Open_  
Author: [](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/profile)[**djarum99**](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Alice/Hatter  
Disclaimer: Disney owns many of the things that I love, including the inhabitants of Underland; I make no profit

 

 

Upon her return, the Queen had named Alice - despite her protests - as Chancellor of the Exchequer, a grand title that came with a table for counting and a great silver Seal in the shape of a swan. Alice seldom has cause to use either, as tribute is paid whenever anyone fancies, in whatever form seems to suit. Flour appears in the castle kitchens when the bins run low, wabeworms present themselves at court to spin silk in every color, and borogroves cheerfully press stone wine from the blushing cliffs above the Sea.

Alice finds she lacks a Purpose, and seeks counsel from the queen.

"The title does not make the woman, dear, nor form her function."

"But I've nothing, as Exchequer, to _do_."

Mirana's laughter rings like fractured bells; Alice has never sorted out the manner of its music, atonal and lilting and merging from four directions at once.

"Still so literal-minded, after all your time with us. After sharing so much with the Hatter. Tremendously refreshing, and very _necessary,_ you see."

"Mirana, I-"

"You must proceed, Alice, quickly, as you have so _very_ much to do. Consider it a riddle."

Alice watches as the queen drifts away, speaking kindly to each flowering tree. A riddle. Another one. Her thoughts dance back to the phrase "sharing so much with the Hatter," a phrase worthy of multiple interpretations, the most recent involving honey, and sticky goldenrod sheets.

"Keep such musings to yourself, you shameless hussy!"

A rose sneers from its well-mulched bed, disdainfully preening its petals.

"I didn't say a word. Why are roses always so rude?"

"You've turned that tell-tale shade of pink, _again_. Disgusting. I'm sure I can't help it that your thoughts are so dreadfully loud. As for rude - it's the thorns, you see. Our armor and our curse."

"Oh."

It does all make sense, after an Underlandish fashion, but in the time it takes Alice to acknowledge this insight, the rose has fallen asleep. The entire garden appears to be dozing, in fact, and she seeks more lively company.

It's time for tea.

An hour later she's breathless, lying amidst scattered clothing beneath the Hatter's gate-legged table. Afternoon sunlight warms her skin, already flushed with artful ministrations, and Tarrant wears the look of shy, sly pride that makes her heart ache, sharp and full. Her hair has tangled with his, wayward threads of red and saffron - he teases them apart, so carefully, and she longs to ask him to stop.

_Leave us connected, don't sever the tie..._

She studies his hands, remains silent.

His hands...she remembers the first time she unwrapped them and found only faint healed scars.

_"Why the bandages, then, Hatter? Are you afraid you'll hurt yourself again?"_

He'd refused to meet her gaze, staring at his upturned palms as though they belonged to someone else.

"I'm afraid that without them I might fly apart."

"I see. Would you like me to-"

"No."

He'd kissed her then, and that night it was she who flew apart, borne on wings of fine-boned magic, his defenseless moonstruck touch.

"There's something I need to ask of you, Tarrant."

"Anything. A new dress? I seem to have done this one grievous harm. Or another visit to your mother - surely she's had sufficient time to recover from the last, and she really was most gracious about the table linens. Embroidering battle scenes is quite tricky, you know, Jabberwocks in particular, especially newly headless Jabberwocks, but I do believe she appreciated-"

"No, not home. I want to go...exploring. In Underland."

He jerks upright, misjudging the height of the table, and sends a cascade of spools and hat stands tumbling to the floor.

"Hatter - is your head all right?"

"It's all a-jumble, full of myths, maps, marauders, mayhem, misadventures - and ye don' ken what yer speakin' of, lass, Underland is nae place to wander without purpose..."

His eyes remain green, though the Outlander sparks behind them and his voice has lost an octave. The absence of rage has made room for integration, and he's no longer a man of multiple minds, just one with...complications. A collage, of sorts, and she welcomes his contrasts - life with Tarrant Hightopp has proven anything but boring. But...

"A purpose - but that's it, you see. I don't seem to have one here, and I find myself quite at loose ends. I've been talking with the Knights, studying Mirana's maps, and-"

"Loose ends. An' ye want to leave to tie them up."

The spark is threatening to kindle, his eyes a cat's spun gold, and she rises to rest her cheek at his shoulder, captures his restless hands.

"I don't want to leave _you_. I'm asking you to come with me."

One long, still moment when she fears that he'll refuse, and then her back meets slick white marble as he spins her to the floor.

"I'd best be finding me sword, then, and seein' to provisions. Tea - we'll need lots of tea - and tents and twine and tarpaulins. How do ye feel about kilts, Alice, as gentlemanly travel attire?"

He's already inside her, moving sweet and deep, and she breathes her joyous answer before all her words are lost.

"I'm...most definitely...in favor."

~

 

Seven days later, with the expert aid of McTwisp and the dubious assistance of both Tweedles, Thackery, and an agitated Mallymkun, their preparations are complete. Mally has insisted on coming, of course, armed to the teeth with every hatpin she owns. Alice puts her in charge of the expedition's maps, such as they are - the cartographer's efforts all end abruptly past Witzend's mountains, the Queastern shore of the Crimson Sea, the shadowy forests of Snud.

Alice had questioned McTwisp on the subject, as the most well-travelled of her Underland friends, but he hadn't proven forthcoming.

"It's as far as anyone has cared to _go,_ and why would they go further? Home being where the heart is, and everyone in Underland having one. An abode, that is."

"And what of those with curious hearts, Nivens? Has Underland produced no wanderers?"

"Not until _now._You'll simply have to draw your own map - or fill in the edges, I suppose. Can't be helped, though I do hope you'll be careful."

"Of what, exactly?"

"No one knows!"

"But why does no one wonder?"

The rabbit had sniffed in answer, and dashed off muttering something about "foreigners," and the stubborn tardiness of Time.

The morning of their departure dawns bright, and the Queen has requested an audience in the courtyard, to bid them good luck and Fairfarren. Tarrant is indeed wearing a kilt, a dark tartan swirl above polished boots that echo sharp in the hallways. It suits him in a way that Alice is saving - for later. He's tailored an ensemble for her, as well, riding breeches and a cropped blue jacket. She remembers a stilted quadrille, a discussion with Hamish so long ago about men in skirts and women in trousers, and she grins.

_Impossible things..._

Mirana is in the throne room, playing chess with five foot-frogs, a drowsy hedgehog, and an irritable flamingo with a bandaged beak. Alice can't determine what rules might govern their octet, but she and her party wait patiently until their Queen at last resigns the game.

"Seven-one, and good luck to you all. Mind the rooks, they _are_ prone to cheat. Alice, Tarrant, all is ready in the courtyard."

The horses stand ready, conversing amongst themselves - a dozen had volunteered with great excitement, having little to do beyond pageantry in this most peaceful of times. Alice is singled out by a regal gray mare, and the Hatter by her husband, a long-legged bay.

"We'd be honored, I'm sure, m'lady, m'lord. First chance we've had at adventure since the days of Songoric the Bold - and we all know how _that_ ended."

Alice doesn't, opens her mouth to inquire, but she's interrupted by a tug at her sleeve, and turns to find Mally perched atop a saddle horn, waving a roll of tight-furled parchment. She's brought inks and brushes and blank canvas to fulfill her duties as scribe, neatly packed in baskets behind her and slung low on either side. Her enormous steed appears less than pleased.

"The day won't get any younger, Alice - which way is it we're going?"

Which way indeed... Alice looks to her Hatter, and his gaze holds her own, clear and silent.

"North, Mally. We'll follow the Sea."

Their procession begins, Alice at the lead, the horse's hooves clattering on the broad White Road towards the gates of Marmoreal. She looks behind to wave goodbye and sees Tarrant bend to heed his Queen, his hair a brilliant flame against waves of royal white gold. Mirana's message seems to freeze the very air between them - one missing heartbeat, and then he smiles.

Alice asks, of course, what it was that gave him such pause.

"The Queen has been studying the Oraculum, it seems. She said another adventure awaits us, upon our triumphant return."

"Triumphant? And what adventure awaits us back in Marmoreal, exactly - you have the look of Chessur in cream."

"Exactly! Pity he's too busy with his kittens to come - we may have need of evaporative skills. And claws. One never knows when the road's unknown."

His mount snorts, and Alice detects an equine smirk; Tarrant looks...smug, there's no other word for it, sitting tall and proud with eyes the color of summer grass, awash with the noonday sun.

She gives up on the puzzle - for now - and contemplates the horizon's thin line, shimmering red above the Sea.

"Hatter...when I first fell down the rabbit hole, and the second time as well, I landed in a room with many doors. And I found a key, but it fit just one. Do you know the room I mean?"

His glance slides sideways, explores her face. "Aye. I know it."

"Do you know where the other doors lead, why only one was meant for me?"

"They were all meant for you, Alice, you simply had to choose which one to open, which one the key would fit. And you did. The right one, by my own selfish lights, and what brilliant lights, luminous, liquid, lovely..."

"The other doors - would I have found you behind them?"

Tarrant looks down at his hands, bare and pale, steady fingers entwined in the reins.

"Not like this. No. You wouldn't have found me like this. I would have been...different, behind each one, saner, madder, more dangerous, more the fool."

The breeze lifts their scarves, threatens his hat - they've reached the bluffs above the Crimson Sea, and the sky is tinged vermillion, the water kissed with blue. Their companions have reached the beach, and Mally shouts orders as tents bloom in a riot of windblown color.

"I've doors of my own, you see - so many choices, Alice, so many paths, so many Underlands."

"If I hadn't found the right one, then I might not have been Champion, might not have found my way-"

He slides from the saddle, lifts her down to stand beside him.

"That's not true, never true, nowhere, no how, no matter the key or the door. You were always meant to be Champion, Alice. Your own. No one else's, not mine or the Queen's or Underland's. Yours."

"Tarrant - tell me what she said to you. Mirana. You're not made for keeping secrets."

He isn't, and he pulls her close, whispers warm into her ear. The waves tell stories of their own, hissing swift through diamond sand, and Alice laughs, breaks free, runs to meet their wild cool promise.

Tarrant Hightopp, mad as only a man in love can be, pulls off his boots and follows.

 

  
  
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